Alphabetical fables
by Virgin in a brothel
Summary: 26 unrelated stories starring the delightful characters of My Fair Lady. Rated T becuse I have no idea what's going to happen.
1. A is for Alcohol

_**Alphabetical fables...**_

_Disclaimer: I own NOTHING . . . or do I own the words?_

_This is the first instalment of what I hope to be a collection of 26 unrelated short stories, all created from the inspiration found from each letter of the alphabet. Bon Appetite!_

A is for **Alcohol.**

Head swaying rhythmically from side to side, she breathed in a familiar aroma of the being that could not be far away. She felt his arms around her, and semi-consciously she smiled a vague and distant smile that portrayed delusion into his disdainful eyes.

He was not wholly sure of the degree of awareness that the young woman was feeling at that moment, but he hoped with every fibre of his being that it was minimal: he was not in the mood for further arguments, nor did he care greatly for the actions she had taken subsequent to the first. Cautiously he laid her tired form upon their bed, and for some reason unbeknown to him, he sat beside her, his fingers running through her hair as though cleansing his feelings of contempt for Eliza Doolittle.

Stripping her eyes of cloaking she was steadily shocked by their new found lack of darkness. She squinted towards the man beside her whom had quickly pulled his hand away, and elatedly she cried, "Henry," she took a moment to adjust before continuing between hiccups, "y-you, really didn't ha-have to!"

"Did I not?" Henry replied sarcastically.

With a little confusion, she retorted, "Why would you?" She attempted to rise, but as she did the room became a steady vortex of sickening light and shade, "Oh, that's why." She giggled as she fell through the spinning room.

"Indeed." He sighed.

As she lay back on the bed, she contemplated her surroundings until revelation hit her, "Oh . . . it's my bedroom!" She began to giggle complacently. "Ah ha."

Henry scowled half heartedly, "Good lord Eliza, I can honestly say I believe you when you say nobody's ever seen a sign of liquor on you."

Eliza replied quite genuinely, and with evident intoxication, "Why thank you!"

Henry took in her distorted charisma and smiled: she had a certain charm in this state of intoxication. "Why may I ask, have you begun now?" He questioned.

Eliza screwed her face up in concentration, trying to remember what had compelled her to try her first ill-advised drop. She recalled why moments later, "Of course!" She sat up unsteadily in an instant and Henry held her there to prevent her from falling.

She was beginning to feel very heavy as alcohol induced weariness began to overcome her. Weights appeared strapped to her limbs, willing her to rest flat upon the bed. She yawned.

Henry let out another long sigh and began to undress her.

"Oh Henry, you surely can't make love to me in this state!" she giggled, "Really, you're far too drunk."

"No Eliza, I would prefer you to remember my making love to you. I'm getting you changed for bed: you can't fall asleep here in your clothes, and Mrs Pearce is already asleep. Not to mention, you are the drunken one, not I." Henry scowled in discontent.

"I don't need help!" she retorted in shock and dismay. She fumbled with the buttons on her dress scattily to little avail and muttered, "Oh bloody hell." She threw a hand to her mouth immediately condemning her own words.

Henry shook his head, "Good heavens." He continued to undress her.

Eliza mumbled half heartedly between yawns, "Hardly proper," but she relaxed into the bed.

With all his might Henry restrained his hands that longed to wander the contours of her body, roam her being, and share in her warmth; he continued to peel away the layers of her attire until she was left in nothing but her undergarments. "Sit up," he demanded, "let me loosen your stays."

Eliza obliged willingly; a dazed excitement causing arousal in her tired mind. She felt the warmth of his hands as he began to slowly loosen the ties that held her together, and she felt a yearning inside of her that burned throughout her soul. Imagination was running away with her; dreams of finally and ultimately being taken into his arms as he made love to her plagued the soul that obediently let Henry Higgins undress her. Had the alcohol seeped into the depravities of her deranged mind, warping her thoughts and fracturing her mentality?

Henry interrupted her thought process, "Why then?"

Suddenly she became all too aware of the large hands resting around her waist, "Wh-Why what?"

Willingly he elaborated upon request, "Why are you more inebriated than your father on Christmas day?"

Ignoring the criticism Eliza nodded, "Well. . . I thou-th-though," She fell into a fit of hysteric giggles- "I just can't g-get my words trout."

"Out." Henry corrected.

"Oh, I'd rather stay in." Eliza retorted

Henry opted for a dismaying sigh rather than continue with the current issue of the misconstruing of the conversation. 'Good lord she is going to feel this tomorrow', he thought. A moment later he felt his head resting lightly upon her shoulder, completely unaware of how it had arrived there.

Eliza took his motion to insinuate his dismay towards the situation rather than his irrational and new found want of mutual intimacy. She therefore allowed herself to dryly reveal her motives, "I was upset."

"Upset?" Henry repeated quizzically.

"Terribly." She replied with feeble defiance.

Henry couldn't help but exasperate, "Why, what the devil upset you this time; why are you _always_ so damned upset?"

Eliza retorted with such passion that Henrys head slipped from its resting place and collided with the bed frame, "because you're a DAMN UPSETTING person!"

"Arghhh." He cried out as the sickening sound of metal on bone reverberated throughout the room.

Eliza gasped, "Oh goodness Henry!" She flung herself towards him grabbing his head with what was supposed to be tenderness.

"Don't attack me you insane intoxicated woman!" Yet he did not move from her grip. They simply stared into each other's eyes.

Almost a minute passed before wrinkles appeared around Eliza's eyes, and she could no longer contain what she suppressed. Peals of laughter erupted as she stroked his cheek. "Oh Henry, what fools."

"I wouldn't go as far as to suggest that there are numerous fools in the vicinity. I, myself am only aware of the one." He proclaimed proudly and with attempted dignity, both soon dispersed with Eliza's reply.

"Yes, and it's ever so big of you to admit that Henry Higgins, I am terribly proud of you." She mocked with some amount of bemusement.

Henry cleared his throat, slightly disconcerted by her ability to better him in any way, "Ahem. . . Well, I'm glad that you've sobered up now, perhaps we can . . . talk properly now?"

Eliza smiled and rested her head upon his chest, "No Henry, let's not: I know you don't want the same things as me, so there is no point in pursuing the matter. You made your feelings intensely clear earlier."

Tentatively he sought out her hand, "Eliza, I do believe that your habitual tendency to misconstrue my feelings has clouded the truth overwhelmingly." He gently kissed the nape of her neck.

After waiting a few moments for his words to sink in she mastered an articulate reply. . . "Oh."

_**Sincerely hope you enjoyed this little fable, and I hope you all learned a valuable lesson. Please review and tell me just what you learned! **_


	2. B is for Bereavement

_**Apologies for the painfully slow update...**_

_**Henry Higgins loses his father 1884 at the age of twelve. This may give you an insight as to what moulded his slightly arrogant personality, and teach you that events in a childhood DO impact on later life. (Solely my opinion)**_

_**-Henry Higgins diary entry.**_

B is for **Bereavement- **part one

Dear Diary, 19th March 1884

Mother and I have just arrived home after attending father's funeral. Some people believe it is not proper to have funerals on Sundays. However mother felt we should break with tradition. Poor Louise, bless her bed ridden heart, could not attend. Mother feared she was far too weak and would faint with all the emotion. I feel I did not do my late father justice in my music: I continually wept throughout my own epic piano solo, and played more than a few incorrect notes. However it is my belief that as most who attended were so overwhelmed with grief, my mistakes were barely noticeable.

Diary, I fear I will never get the memory of the disastrous burial out of my mind, and it shall probably haunt me till the end of my days.

I shall now explain a little about today's events. They may sound humorous, but bear in mind the torment they caused my poor widowed mother. The first catastrophe was when the vicar announced that: "we are all gathered here today to pay our last respects to Andrew Wickersham." This was followed by a great deal of confusion and outrage, as we were all convinced that the corpse in the coffin was in fact christened James Higgins!

Once the confusion (and outrage on my mother's behalf) was over, the vicar continued with much apology. I at least was sure that from there onwards things should run quite smoothly. However, everything went from bad to worse. When we had ventured outdoors for the burial, and the vicar got to the part of, "ashes to ashes, and dust to dust," my mother let out a cry like a strangled whale, and the vicar was taken so much by surprise that he immediately toppled head first into the newly dug grave!

Mother did not permit my tutor to enter the house today; she said that no other man should enter the house until the black drapes are removed, as is family tradition. I understand that it is out of respect for my father; however she is refusing to remove them until she has finished grieving! I ask you now diary, how long will it take? I do not wish for my education to suffer! And also, am I not now regarded as the man of the house? I am twelve! Honestly diary, though I am a renowned child prodigy in the field of English, I cannot be expected to tutor myself!

My mind is thirsty for knowledge! I could always ask Charlotte for help, however she is but a poor maid and must be able to accomplish nothing more than care for my sister. Although mother talks very highly of her and her intelligence I doubt that it could surpass my own! However if there has been one thing I have learned from growing up with a sister and mother like mine, it is not to argue as all I can achieve is total seclusion, being pushed away from my family with my judgments of others! But at least I always had father. I suppose that my father's loss will tell upon my character and emotions greatly in time to come, I will miss those stolen hours spent by his side in our small boat, letting time slip by as gradually and carelessly as if it were water travelling through a stream. Though it seems that those hours were years ago, I shall never forget his hearty laugh, the way he was looked up to by all who knew him, and the kind words he gave me when I was in need. I loved the way he would take poor orphaned Jerry into his heart, and treat my dearest friend as a son, quite unlike mother who has always done her best to ignore his presence, and even sometimes myself continuously calling him orphanage boy! At least Louise is generally in another world, and is barely aware of anybody else around her.

I do so hope that my dear sister will recover one day. Doctors keep saying that she is on borrowed time, but I still feel as I have kept on saying, that her spirit will keep her going! Mother cannot take any further losses.

However I hope mother will allow Jerry to visit. If she does not count me as a man she couldn't possibly count Jerry as one, he is at least a month younger than I! After all, I need a good friend, a pillar of hope, somebody to work alongside of at a time like this! A fellow musician to accompany me through some of Mozart's finest voyages through music! Somebody to share my passion with!

But my dearest diary, I shall always remember my dear fathers final words to me, "Never let a woman in your life."

_**Now, what have we all learnt?**_

_**- Part two focuses upon Eliza Doolittle and the loss of her mother at a very early age.**_


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